


The Flat

by MidnightCity



Category: Formula E RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Dark, Gen, Halloween Challenge, Horror, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mild Gore, Psychological Horror, inspired by Stephen King's 1408
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:21:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27211144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightCity/pseuds/MidnightCity
Summary: André buys a new flat in Monaco; the view is beautiful and he loves it - of course, he does not pay attention to any of the warnings about the unexplained things that happened here prior ...
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5
Collections: Fear





	The Flat

##  **Today**

“Hello?”

“You have to help me.”

“André? Is that you.”

“….. here.”

“I can barely hear you. Why are you whispering?”

“I can’t … It’s here.” 

“What is?”

“…”

“André, where are you?”

“At home.”

“In Monaco?”

“You have to hurry.”

“André … Are you in Monaco?”

“Yes … I can’t talk anymore. Please hurry.”

“André?”

“…”

“André!”

“Emergency service, how can I help you?”

“Yes, I think my … friend needs help.”

“Okay, are they with you?”

“No, he is at home.”

“and where is that?”

“Boulevard de Belgique, number 15.”

“And his name?”

“André Lotterer.”

“Alright. Someone is on the way. I need your name?”

“Jean Eric Vergne.” 

“Mr. Vergne, what kind of danger is your friend in?”

“I don’t know … he did not say … he was very confused. I am afraid he …”

“Sir, you need to be honest. Only then we can take the right measures quickly.”

“…”

“Mister Vergne?”

“I am afraid he might hurt himself.”

“Is Mr. Lotterer suicidal?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did he imply anything?”

“No … not like that but … I don’t know … you have to help him.”

“Sir, help is already on the way.”

As the emergency service said those words, JEV was only one corner away from André’s flat. Even in the dark, he found the apartment block with ease but getting there proved to be harder. There was a crowd right in front of the entrance.

JEV felt a shiver run down his spine as he stopped the car at the curb and got out. When he looked up at the building, he noticed several balconies with open doors, and André’s seemed to be among them. As he pushed through the crowd he wanted to ask what had happened for them to be there but at the same time not a single word managed to get past his lips.

Maybe on a subconscious level he had already known … JEV thought as he finally stood in front of the body that lay on the ground.

“Has someone called an ambulance yet?”

“Yes, they should be here.”

“What happened?”

“Must have jumped.”

Despite understanding the words, they did not make any sense to him … He only saw André lying on the cold asphalt, his eyes closed as if he was only taking a nap but the blood that pooled underneath his body told a harsher story.

“André,” JEV whispered and knelt down next to him. His fingers brushed against his cheek, afraid that any more contact might hurt him further. “What have you done?”

His skin was still warm, and maybe he was still breathing. _Too late._ JEV had been too late, he should have done something far sooner. Months ago, when all of this had started. They had been warned but now …

Now someone grabbed him by the shoulders and roughly moved him out of the way – away from André. JEV did not have the energy to protest; he watched as people in red jackets started to kneel over him. JEV collapsed where they had placed him, not having enough strength to get back up. 

“Quick we need a stretcher.”

“He’s still breathing.”

“Did anyone see what happened?”

“Secure his neck.”

“As if his spine wasn’t shattered already.”

“Sir, can you hear me? Do you know where you are?”

“Does anyone know who he is? Where he lives?” 

JEV had all the answers but the world did not seem real to him anymore. He only managed to look up the building, towards the balcony of André’s flat.

It could not have been true; it had all been lies. And yet, the damage was already done. And JEV knew what he had to do. He could not let this go by unpunished. It had to be destroyed, ruined and wrecked. They could still win this, and if not together, JEV would do it for André.

# Today

“And who is he?” asked Ed as he watched their only witness on the other side of the window.

“Jean Eric Vergne,” explained Nadine. The blood was still sticking to Vergne’s fingers, even as he tried to remove it. “Lotterer called him before he jumped or was made to jump … nobody saw it, so nobody can be sure.”

Ed sighed. “So someone wants to spew themselves across the ground but realises he’s not quite high enough for that.”

“Aren’t you the sensible kind?” By now she should be used to his gallows humour but sometimes it still shook her. She hoped to never become this cold due to their job as police officers.

Ed shrugged his shoulders and Nadine handed him the emergency service report.

“As long as nobody hears it, it is called keeping a professional distance …” he mumbled while reading the file. Then a frown appeared on his face. “Odd.”

“What?”

“I had another suicide at that address when I was still a beatcop. 10 or 15 years ago,” Ed explained and handed the file back. “Slit her own wrists, was a big mess.”

“And?”

Ed shrugged. “Nothing >and< we even had a suicide note.” That was enough to close a case.

“We don’t have one this time.”

Ed frowned and ran his fingers over his beard. 

“Who jumps off a building, doesn’t leave a note but calls their friend instead?” Nadine wondered out loud.

Ed offered her a bright smile. “Great question, how about we ask the lucky person on the other end?”

Nadine watched as Ed grabbed a cup of warm tea as well as tissues before she could warn him about this inappropriate humour. At least she knew that he was always professional and even sensitive when questioning but still, having to remind yourself that this was the case did not help to make this job easier.

As soon as they entered the room, Vergne looked up, the exhaustion and helplessness written all over his face. It was an expression that Ed had seen far too often.

“Mr. Vergne. I am Edward King and this is my colleague Nadine Enslin,” he formally introduced them. For a moment, Vergne wanted to offer his hand but seeing the blood on it he placed it on the table instead. Ed nodded at him and quietly put the box of tissues as well as the tea near Vergne. “We are investigating Mr. Lotterer’s case.”

“Is there any news from the hospital?” Vergne asked at once. Looking at him, Ed wasn’t sure which kind of news he was expecting: the good or the bad. “I can’t see him until you …” At this his voice broke.

Ed understood the urge of wanting to be near a loved one in such a situation well … but he also knew that the relentless pacing in the hospital would probably be more traumatising than what was to follow here. Even so, they did not have an answer for the man. They did not even have any answers on what happened.

“Nothing so far,” Nadine offered instead. Lotterer’s condition was still critical – and he was still being operated on. Doctors had estimated that it might take the rest of the night to fix whatever damage had been caused.

Ed pulled himself back to this room. “Are you up for questioning?” he asked and as Vergne nodded he sat down opposite of him.

At first, he proceeded with the formalities and filled Vergne in about his rights. Then he paused and sighed. Luckily, this hardly seemed to register as Nadine asked Vergne if he needed anything else.

Vergne shook his head, by now his right hand was mostly cleared of the blood.

“Right …” Ed began. He looked at the folder he held in his hands, knowing that there was only a sheet inside. There was no point to stretch this any further, and the sooner they were done, the sooner Vergne could go to hospital. “Mr. Vergne, is it true that Mr. Lotterer called you and you called the emergency service?”

Vergne nodded.

“Can you recall what he said to you?”

This was the first time that Vergne offered any eye-contact since they had entered the room.

“Mr. Vergne?” Ed asked when he did not go on talking.

“André was afraid,” Vergne whispered.

Ed nodded and made sure that he kept his voice warm. “Do you know about what?”

“He said … someone would hurt him.”

Ed exchanged a look with Nadine. He nodded at her and so she asked the next question. “When you called the emergency service, you indicated that Mr. Lotterer might harm himself.”

It was a very clinical and almost gentle description for shattering your body on the hard ground, Ed had to give her that.

“I …” Vergne began and nodded but as he cut off he shook his head. It was clear that he was sorting his thoughts, trying to recall the memory correctly. Those were traumatic events after all, and every mind had a different reaction to those. “Yes … I was afraid that he might do that.”

“Why?”

“André’s … he was not …” Vergne took a deep breath and started anew. “He has been saying strange shit for weeks.”

Ed did not know what to make of this statement. “For example?”

“He was convinced that his flat was cursed.”

Ed bit his lip to stop a snort, but Nadine had not managed in time. Ed shot her a sharp look and she folded her hands, suddenly very busy with watching those. 

From Vergne’s reaction, he had also heard it. So, Ed cleared his throat and picked up the conversation. “What about you?”

Vergne looked at Nadine for a moment, and then back at Ed. He was clearly hesitant to answer. “I am not sure anymore.”

Ed bit the inside of his cheek. Even if the flat was really cursed, it was not exactly their jurisdiction. Even if Lotterer was deeply convinced of this, it was not exactly a crime. Still, Ed thought that it was odd that there was no suicide note. _The kitchen pot is trying to kill me, had enough. Bon voyage!_ would have been enough. It was extremely rare that suicide victims kept their reasons to themselves. After all this was their last chance to share anything with the world. So why not take it? 

Unless, of course, someone wanted Lotterer to believe that the flat was cursed for their own gain.

“When did Mr. Lotterer move into the apartment?” Ed asked, following the hunch.

Vergne visibly relaxed at the question. Maybe because they had moved away from the topic of superstitions, and the topic of the broken body of his friend. “About three months ago?” 

“Do you happen to know for how long it had been empty before that?”

“Yes, I was there when he took a look at it the first time.”

## Three Months Ago

The flat was perfect: just the right height for a great view, and what a view! It was right onto the ocean. It had been renovated not too long ago, so it was clean and well insulated. Furthermore, the neighbourhood was quiet and the garage offered enough space for most of his toys. However, for André the best part was the price: it was dirt-cheap! 

Obviously André had to keep all of these thoughts to himself as he walked through the flat being constantly followed by a broker. She remained silently in the background, shifting her weight from one leg to another. André could not understand why she appeared this nervous – for this price and in that area the flat should not be hard to sell. So André knew that he had to be quick about his purchase.

Leaning against the railing of the balcony he decided to test the ground. “Very nice.” He took a moment to look at the other balconies, noting the flower pots and clutter on them. “I’d be interested. What is your estimation for how long the purchase would take?”

As he stood back up straight, Miss Rey relaxed and offered him a warm – albeit fake – smile. Then she began to explain, “The flat belongs to the real estate company, as you probably already know …” André had not but he decided to keep that fact to himself. “… So it will be easy to legally pass the ownership onto you. I’d say about two weeks.”

Once again Miss Rey shifted her weight, and André wondered what made her so nervous. Was it the height? Or was this going to be her first sale?

“That’s good,” André mumbled, he also tried to be nice in order to reduce her nervousness. So he tried small talk as they walked back into the empty living room. “What even happened to the previous owners?”

André already had a few ideas on how he could use the space. It might be perfect for a minimalistic approach and still retrain its airy feeling. He was so busy with his interior design plans that he only noticed the silence when he saw how pale she had become.

“Miss Rey?”

At that she cleared her throat. “Oh erm …” she shook her head and looked at the floor before mumbling. “… I am not really allowed to talk about it.”

André could already sense a _but._

“But …” _There it was._ “Well … she died here.”

The statement hardly surprised André, the house wasn’t new so a few natural deaths had to be expected. “And because there were no relatives your company got the flat?”

“There were relatives,” she mumbled and the way her eyes snapped up meant that she had spoken before she had been thinking. André cocked his head to the side, wanting her to explain. Apparently she sensed that she had no choice. “Their mother lived here, and she died under tragic circumstances.”

A very clinical but also broad definition for all sorts of events. “Which kind?” At least he had managed to add a sympathetic note to his questions. When he dwelled on his curiosity, he realised that he had really meant it.

This caused Miss Rey to warm up a bit and she explained, “there was a suicide note in which she claimed …” there was a pause and she bit the inside of her cheek before she continued speaking. “… that the flat is haunted.”

Before André could even stop it a snort came out. He already knew that with this all the sympathy that Miss Rey may have had was gone.

“I am not sure I’d react like that …” Miss Rey mumbled but André did not think about apologising. “… after all there is a reason why this flat is so cheap in comparison to other objects on the market, as well as having been empty since 13 years.”

André had really tried to keep an open mind but this tipped him over. “Jesus, JEV did you hear that?”

“Hmm?”

The response came from the kitchen, so André met him there. “Apparently this flat is haunted.” He put the last word in quotation marks and decided to add a spooky noise for good measure. “And it has been empty for 13 years.”

JEV looked at Miss Rey, and seeing how she had shrunk into herself took a little pity on her. “Don’t mind the idiot.” JEV did not exactly believe in the supernatural but he was not so open to dismiss it just yet either … Maybe it was his nature as a racing driver, a little superstition seemed to be natural in the field. Even though André shared none of it.

“Hey, I don’t mind a few curses if it helps me to save money,” André shrugged his shoulders and by his tone he had meant it as a joke. Still JEV gave him a look that clearly told him to leave the topic alone.

JEV cleared his throat and decided to stir the conversation in another direction. “Why couldn’t you find a buyer sooner?”

At that Miss Rey began to fumble among her documents until she pulled out a sheet and started to draw information from it. “Apparently the son used to live here but only for a few months …” Nobody commented on this fact. “… he tried to sell it but nobody really wanted it since it was old, rustic and in need of renovation. He told the company that he did not have the money for it but could not sustain the flat so they bought it, renovated it, and yes …”

“… and here we are. See? Nothing ghostly,” André stated. “It was simply too old and hijo couldn’t afford it anymore.”

“Well … there were the delays when renovating,” Miss Ray explained.

JEV pushed off the wall. For an unexplainable reason he did not want to touch it anymore. “Which ones?” he asked because the silence started to make him uncomfortable.

“It was before my time but I heard stories,” she confessed. “One was about a construction worker who came in here and suddenly he became blind.”

André looked around the flat – this sounded strange enough but there was a logical explanation for it. “He probably smelled some fumes,” he guessed, and his voice sounded so convincing that he started to believe it himself.

“Maybe … but his co-worker found him and as soon as they left the flat well …” She paused a moment and bit her lip. “… well his eye-sight returned almost instantly. Since then nobody had been allowed to enter the flat on their own.”

André looked at JEV, maybe he was looking for reassurance that all of this was non-sense but his face was passive. Almost as if he hadn’t listened to the story at all. What else could it have been but non-sense? The hospital had probably explained what had happened but that had never reached the sunny Miss Rey.

“You’re not doing a great job advertising this place,” André couldn’t stop himself from saying these words. At least this brought a small smile onto JEV’s lips. “You’re lucky I am not superstitious, and it was just a rumour anyway.”

And yet, André felt that he needed a little more reassurance than his own beliefs, so he asked, “have you experienced anything?”

But Miss Rey only shook her head.

“Well then, hand me the paperwork.”

As if commanded to, Miss Rey handed over a brochure with all the information needed. André knew that it would still take weeks until the legal proceedings were dealt with and then he would be the official owner of the property.

When André finished skimming over the papers, he looked at JEV who was walking next to him on the side walk, and asked, “what do you think?”

“It sounds … strange,” he responded, not sure how to explain the knot that had formed in his stomach the longer they had been in the flat.

“Not that!” André snorted and shook his head - he was sure that he could make the supposed hauntings into a fun story for the future. “I was talking about the rooms, but I don’t want them to be cluttered so soon.”

JEV stopped in his track and it took André a moment before he realised that he was talking to empty air. When he turned around, JEV asked him, “Do you really not worry about … what Miss Rey told us?”

André shook his head. “No.” because he really did not. “There are no such things as ghosts, JEV. Didn’t your parents teach you that?”

JEV rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders. He clearly did not want to get into the topic of spirits here when André had shown already that his only response towards it would be mockery.

“I didn’t know you were a believer.”

“I am not … at least I don’t think I am,” JEV tried to explain but he believed in luck and maybe karma. At the same time, he did not want to tempt a force that he might not understand. “But I am also not denying it.”

André looked at him for a while – judging his statement. In the end he simply said, “well, I don’t believe in this _Hokus Pokus_ , so I am going to buy it. The view is to die for.”

With that the discussion was finished for André. JEV was not sure if he was glad for it but he still felt that he should warn André. He was just not sure about what – it almost felt like André was making a mistake by ignoring this, as if his utter disbelief made him even more vulnerable for the flat’s influences … 

It was more likely that André was right, there was no such thing as ghosts …

~*~

Cursed or not after a month André owned the flat and had managed to furnish it. He loved it. The layout worked perfectly for him and he had managed to avoid any cluttering. It was pretty close to the mental image he had had in mind.

Only a few personal touches like photos of friends and family were still missing but the most important already hung in the hall and always greeted him when he entered the flat – even with groceries in hand just like he wanted to do now. However, the door would not want to open.

So André put down the grocery bags and tried the lock again – he could hear it clicking but it simply would not swing open. Even when he put more weight against it, the wood groaned but in the end nothing moved.

“Great.” While rolling his eyes, André picked up his groceries again. Only a few weeks of ownership and things already started to break apart.

Just as he wanted to turn around he heard a creak and the door swung gently open. The lock had finally clicked.

“Was that so hard?” André mumbled as he walked inside the flat. He dropped his shopping in the kitchen and went back to close his front door.

Stopping short, André looked at the door. Something about it was off … but it could not be?

André cocked his head to the side and blinked, maybe his eyes had taken a beating in the heat but as he looked passed the open door and compared it to the others in the hall there was only one conclusion: the door was crooked.

At least that explained why it had been stuck when he wanted to open it. Even though he found it hard to believe that his flat would already fall apart when Miss Rey had said that it had only been renovated recently …

Sighing André reached for his phone but as he did he only found empty air …

Could this day get any more annoying? André wondered. It was probably in the kitchen and André had left it there along with his shopping. But as he searched for it there, he came up empty as well. So it must be in the car, he concluded.

Once more he went towards the front door … he must be the first person to make so many u-turns within a few minutes, André thought as he reached into his front pocket for the car keys.

“What the …” André stopped short, as he clearly felt his phone against his fingers. Could he have really missed it just because it was in his front pocket?! Let alone the fact that André never kept it there because it pressed into his hips while driving. And a few minutes ago the pocket had been empty save from the keys …

André shook his head. No reason to lose his mind over that now. He had his phone and all he needed now was to take a photo and send it to a carpenter. Then he could finally turn his attention towards the ready-meal waiting in his shopping bags.

However, as he looked at the door through his phone’s camera he noticed that it no longer seemed crooked. Had he imagined it? He wondered and slowly lowered the phone. Maybe it really was time to get some food into his stomach …

Even if he wasn’t sure how he could have imagined something like this, after all he had seen it in comparison to the other doors. Still not moving, André placed his phone back inside his trousers pocket. He could not take his eyes off it, maybe it would become crooked once more should he look away …

Maybe it was even the curse … André thought and forced a laugh out. He wanted to laugh about that possibility because it was stupid. This had just been his mind playing a trick on him. He was exhausted, hungry, and really needed some rest. Everything was fine, and his door was perfectly alright as well.

So André let out a deep breath and closed the door. He took the liberty to lean against it and closed his eyes. He took a few moments until he opened them again.

“What the fuck?”

When he looked at the photo he had framed in the hall, he saw a completely different one than the one of him and James in Japan. _This is not right._ He had never seen the image that was depicted. The only correct things were the size and the colour base but otherwise he did not recognise it. But there it was showing him a painting with a table on which sat a glass of water, in the background there was a vase with flowers alongside various plates.

André was transfixed by it. He had to know what this red drop inside the glass was. It had to be wine … but the closer he came the better he noticed that the outline was clear and wine would have already mixed. André swallowed hard, realising the artist’s intention: it was a drop of blood …

The longer André looked at the painting the more disturbing it became. It should have been an innocent still-life of a table after dinner but now he saw the small red stains on the napkin, as well as the red writing. A knot formed in his stomach realising that it was probably not ink at all. And it read: _Oh God please help us_

Suddenly André jumped back as if the painting had burnt him. His heart was beating like a drum in his chest, his body was alert as it sensed danger. Even as André tried to calm down it would not stop. This was just a piece of art, André tried to tell himself and it had to come from somewhere!

“Oh now I know!” André laughed manically as the realisation dawned on him. The laughter rippled through the empty flat, echoing off the walls and grew louder but it did nothing to lessen the tension building in André’s muscles.

“JEV you little shit.” It must have been him, very clever to sneak into his flat while he was gone and replace it for a prank. “I’ll show you!” But as he reached for his phone he felt only empty air once more.

“This is silly.” André padded down his whole body. Every pocket was empty, not even the keys were there anymore. Had he taken them out? No, he was sure of it but at the same time, they weren’t there …

 _The door!_ The idea came to him. He had probably forgotten to take the keys out of the lock when he had tried to open the stuck door. They would still dangle on the outside – not his brightest moment but a reasonable assumption.

The crooked door … André thought as he had wanted to walk towards it. It was crooked again. He blinked rapidly as if it would fix itself again – like the last time. After all, a moment ago it had been perfectly alright again, and right now it was not. It was mocking him!

André closed his eyes and when he opened them again after a moment a snort escaped him. The door was still crooked but there was nothing he could do about it right now. He would have to fix it later. Or maybe it would even fix itself again, he joked because he was not sure about anything anymore.

Maybe if he took a photo he might be able to figure out what was really wrong with it. Nevertheless, this was not the most pressing problem, he needed his keys and those were at the wrong side of the damned door.

As he pushed down the door-handle nothing moved. André frowned and tried again. He felt the door budge and then a moment later it hit the lock but he knew that this could not be. After all the keys were nowhere to be seen – if he had locked it they would be inside the flat. So he couldn’t have done that in the first place. It was also highly unlikely that he had accidentally locked himself inside the flat. The door had to be stuck! Maybe because the door was crooked after all.

André laughed not really knowing why – right now it was the only way he knew of for defusing this situation. It did nothing to help, it only became worse when he looked at the painting. By now the blood drop had settled at the bottom of the glass …

“Who’s laughing now?!” André shouted and as he reached it within two steps he hit it. The pain was overshadowed by the satisfaction he felt at the impacts and watching the glass shatter.

But as André’s vision cleared, he had to take a step back at what image he had just destroyed: James and him standing on the rooftop of their apartment complex. 

“How?”

And as André looked at the door, he saw the keys inside the lock just waiting for him. Not knowing what to do, André sank to the floor and unclenched his fist – the glass shards cutting into his skin. His phone was digging into his hips, and André wanted to call someone … but he was not sure who and what was he even to say?

The only thing that felt real right now were the cuts on his skin and the blood that was dripping on the floor.

## The Next Day

Ed had been relieved to send Mr. Vergne home. The more they had talked, the whiter the other man had become. If he was honest, they both had needed sleep …

The next morning, Ed pondered over what he had been told. Of course, the flat was not cursed, there was no such things as curses. Nevertheless, this might not stop someone from making another man believe that he lived in a cursed flat. It might not even stop them from going so far to make another man jump from his balcony because of this alleged curse.

It was strange but it was a possibility that Ed had to entertain. After all, this would make the instance into a crime and a horribly gruesome and cold one as well. Who could watch as they drove another man to the brink of sanity … and then watch them fall 14 stories down onto the hard asphalt of insanity?

Ed shook his head and took another sip from his coffee cup only to find it empty. _This also makes you lose faith in humanity,_ he thought.

“That’s weird,” he heard Nadine’s voice behind her computer.

“My empty cup?” Ed offered half-heartedly.

“It’s too early for your shitty humour.”

Ed shrugged his shoulders and walked up to her desk to look at whatever she was looking at. From the looks of it, she had pulled up all incidents they had documented at Lotterer’s address. While the list was longer than expected, Ed failed to see a connection.

“What is it?”

“Well … call me crazy …”

“Crazy,” Ed mumbled as he sat down at the edge of her desk.

She leaned back in her chair and a weak smile managed to creep onto her face. “Thanks.” Then she rolled her eyes and began to explain. “I had a look at the address, and I found a few deaths listed.”

Ed shrugged his shoulders. “To be expected in such an old building with 20 floors.”

“True … also it has 19 floors,” Nadine corrected him. “They omitted the number 13 on the signs.”

Ed pulled a face. “People still do that.” He had heard of airlines and hotels omitting this number but never a living block. Wasn’t it also a lucky number for some? In the end, it was only a silly superstition.

“Anyway …” Nadine went on. “The weird thing isn’t that people died in this building in general. However, the weird thing is that almost all of them died in Lotterer’s flat: number 8.”

Now this was interesting, Ed thought. He was not quite sure what it meant for his theory but it was strange in itself. Ed leaned forward, and looked at the entries in the electronic system. Now he also saw the connection. The two natural deaths had been a heart-attack, and a cancer death.

“Your suicide is also on the list,” Nadine referred to his story from last night. “Her suicide note had been a simple _God please help me,_ _I can’t take this anymore._ ”

Ed nodded, remembering it now. It had been written on a white piece of paper but with red ink. A haunting image … and one he had been glad to have forgotten. Back then he had believed that _this_ referred referred to life. What else could it have been?

“Aside from her …” Nadine interrupted his thoughts and started to read of the list. “three women and one man overdosed there. Two were found in bed … erm, two separate cases … and one on the toilet.”

“Not exactly where I’d want to go,” Ed mumbled, thinking of more dignifying places available.

“Mhm … One man hanged himself. This is especially pretty: a year afterwards another cut off his genitals and afterwards slit wrist.”

They both cringed but Ed indicated for her to go on.

“Last but hardly least … five men and one woman jumped off the balcony – exactly like Lotterer did.”

Ed shook his head. Nadine was right when she had said that this was weird. Tragedy and death were bound to happen in such a large building, but so many at exactly the same place …

“Is there a chance that someone had driven them all to do this?” Ed asked, thinking of his little theory.

“Either they would have had to start very young …” Nadine shook her head, and Ed waved the rest of her sentence off. “… or they are past 80 now.”

“How many people know of this history?” Ed asked and before Nadine could even give a ballpark estimate he went on. “Couldn’t someone use this and use it as … inspiration to drive Mr. Lotterer to the point … you know.”

“I guess it’s possible,” Nadine replied. “But who would do that?”

“That’s our job to find out.” Ed gave her a gentle smile but as she opened her mouth to protest at his teasing he shook his hand. “Well done on the list, really.” He meant it and waited a moment to make sure that Nadine knew this too.

Then he started talking again. “I haven’t been sleeping either, and looked a little at the will, and it turns out that should Mr. Lotterer … erm, succumb to his injuries that a certain James Rossiter would get the flat. He too lives in Monaco and presto, two flats for the price of one.”

Nadine nodded, she also seemed to like this idea. “I think we should invite him over.”

“Agreed,” Ed stood up and took his cup. “Now back to business.”

“Complaining about your lack of coffee?” 

~*~

Half a day and two cups of coffee later, Ed walked into the interrogations room and introduced himself to Mr. Rossiter. He seemed more collected than Vergne had been, but then again he had not been on the scene the night before. This calmness could also come from the fact that Rossiter may have expected this kind of news any time now.

As Ed sat down, Rossiter began to talk, “Sorry, I couldn’t make it any sooner. I was in Tokyo when I got the call and …” There he shrugged his shoulders.

Ed knew how the rest of the story went but he wanted to hear it from him. After all people tended to expose more in casual chitchat than during questioning.

“Erm anyway, I got back as soon as I could,” Rossiter went on, apparently not comfortable with the silence in the room. “I drove to the hospital from the airport and I wasn’t aware that you guys were looking for me. Otherwise I would have been here sooner.”

“No worries about that,” Ed began. He believed the last part, and Rossiter seemed sorry that he had caused the police further trouble. Nevertheless, he could not exclude his involvement in this investigation. Ed knew that his theory did not have a firm basis but if he played his cards right, at the very least, he would gain more information about Lotterer. “This is just a routine questioning. We need to determine if what happened was a suicide attempt, an accident or something else entirely.” 

Ed watched closely as Rossiter reacted but there was only confusion on his face. “Why should it be anything but an accident?”

Naturally, Ed could not answer this honestly. “We just need to make sure,” Ed began and then cleared his throat. “And someone close to Mr. Lotterer voiced concerns about his state of mind.”

Rossiter took a deep breath and leaned back. It seemed that he already knew who Ed was talking about. But Ed did not notice even the slightest bit of satisfaction in Rossiter that might indicate pride in his doing. Then again, someone who was calculated enough to drive someone into madness would not ruin it all by smiling in the wrong moment …

“I see,” was the only thing Rossiter said.

“You don’t seem surprised by this?” Ed was not sure if it was a question or a statement.

At that Rossiter’s features fell, and for a moment Ed thought that he had him. He had the psychopath who had done this, but exactly in the moment when the thought had appeared he knew that he was wrong. The emotion that Rossiter showed was not guilt; it was pain and sadness.

“André had changed in the last months.”

Ed swallowed. “Was he seeing a therapist?”

James nodded, and Ed knew that he would need to check the medical files again for any contact details. But even if they found them, as long as Lotterer was still alive they were bound to patient/client confidentially and this would not help him in any way. This would have been easier had he died instantly.

“How has Mr. Lotterer changed?” Ed asked and pushed the gruesome thought aside. 

“When André moved here, we saw each other almost daily,” Rossiter began to talk but the small smile on his face disappeared quickly. “He was his old self, joking around and stuff. Two months or so, I had to leave for Japan. I am also a racing driver and the cars don’t wait … and then André changed.”

Rossiter took a deep breath, and Ed gave him the moment to collect himself.

“He started to call me in the middle of the night, and started talking bullshit that someone was following him, that his flat was haunted. JEV made him see a therapist, and …” At that Rossiter shrugged his shoulders in defeat. “… I saw him last month, and if I am honest, I am not sure who the man was that I visited.”

## One Month Ago

“André, you are making no sense.” James could no longer listen to André’s gibberish. The photos were not changing – and while that might be worrying, the strange talk about the blood is what really caused the goosebumps on his skin. 

“There is nobody in the flat but you,” James tried to comfort him but as he took a step forward he noticed how André flinched back. So he decided against it – it would not be much comfort if he was afraid of James. “I promise you.”

Of course, André shook his head. “You don’t understand.”

James was not sure what he had expected. After all, André was sick; he would not suddenly see the light and be cured. Sadly, it did not work like this. So James would do best if he would not lose his temper and took a deep breath to calm his nerves.

“André, you know that you have an illness,” James stated softly.

André had been right there when the psychiatrist had explained that the condition can happen very sudden – being triggered by an event that alters the brain chemistry or even drugs can induce a psychosis. In some cases the effects wear off, even if it takes years, but they can also stay forever. James had always doubted that it had been drugs, but at the time the diagnosis had begun, André had no longer been coherent enough to state otherwise.

“I am not sick.”

The last time James had seen André had been at the diagnosis, and seeing the difference between those weeks was frightening: André had dark circles underneath his eyes, he was easily startled, and had lost a considerable amount of weight.

“You were there when the doctor said you have schizophrenia,” James stated and rubbed the space between his nose. “She gave you medicine to help you.”

“It won’t help.” André had backed into the wall.

James frowned, wondering if he was seeing something behind him, something that clearly frightened him but James resisted to turn around. He could not indulge André’s hallucinations.

“Only wants to kill me …”

James had almost missed the words since André only mumbled them. It was painful that André believed it all, that he did not want to see that he was ill. At the same time, James tried to tell himself that it was not André’s fault that this had happened to him. Unfortunately, feelings were not so easy and rarely listened to logic.

“Who?” James asked. “Dr. Chorney?”

André shook his head while wrapping his arms around his chest. “The flat …” James closed his eyes – he did not want to hear this again. “… she is only a pawn in this game. The drugs make me weak.”

“How can that be?! A flat is an object!” James could not watch his best friend deteriorate like this. He hated watching it every single day. He hated that André did nothing to help himself. “And what the fuck are you looking at?”

Finally, he turned around to see whatever André was seeing. There was nothing … nothing that could even remotely cause someone to feel horror, it was just a neat and tidy living room.

This had to stop! This simply had to stop, and James was willing to force the damn medicine down André’s throat to make it happen. As the thought crossed his mind, James no longer recognised his own actions. After all, he was not a violent man – especially not towards André. He could not even be mad at him for more than a day. What had just come over him?

James saw the tears in André’s eyes and stopped mid-step. He felt relief that he had not even been close enough to touch him, let alone hurt him. Shame and regret forced James onto his knees, and he sat on the floor.

“I am sorry André,” James began and shook his head – he was exhausted, nobody had wished for this to happen. Now they did not have a choice. “I am so sorry.”

He did not expect any forgiveness, or even for André to know what he was talking about. So James let the silence stretch and hung his head in shame. He would have to find the strength to pull through this, after all he could not abandon his friend – it went against their nature, against all they’ve been through. Somehow they would be strong enough to make do now.

James only looked up again when he heard André sit down next to him. “It’s okay …” André sounded like a parent who tried to comfort his crying child. Then he placed a hand onto James’ arm. “It’s not your fault … it is the flat.”

A sad smile managed onto James’ lips. In André’s twisted world, this statement might even make sense – it might even comfort André but James knew that the fault for losing his temper was his own. “Okay,” he whispered, not wanting to fight anymore.

André rested his head on James’ shoulder, maybe he too was tired of fighting. James did not argue, he was almost afraid to move, he also wanted to comfort and so placed his hand over André’s. When he looked at him, James saw that his eyes were closed.

James couldn’t help but wonder if this was one of the last few places where André felt save. God knew that there were not many of those left. People had abandoned him left right and centre, and he barely managed to get out without fearing that someone would hurt him. So he could not leave the flat, André claimed that it would not let him … at least not until it had finished its job.

“André?” James whispered, wondering if he had fallen asleep. But André shifted a little. “How about a deal?”

André nodded, listening.

“I’ll stay with you tonight,” James offered. “And if nothing happens, you are going to take the medicine? We could start slow.”

He knew that André would not like it, and he could already see it on his face. James also knew that spending the night alone in the flat was the worst part for André – so maybe he would accept. And if he did, James knew that he would hold up his part of the deal. After all, he had never broken a promise before.

## The Next Day

“And did anything happen that night?”

Rossiter shook his head and stayed quiet.

The longer Rossiter had talked, the less Ed was convinced that he had anything to do with Lotterer’s fall. The way his tone had changed, and the reluctance was clearly written all over his face … While these men were certainly close, it also seemed genuine as far as Ed could tell.

“Porsche also took him out of the Formula E programme until he would recover,” Rossiter mumbled.

Ed nodded but had to admit that he had already been aware of this. During his research, he had found a little of press coverage that cited health problems as the reason. These were never specified, but even Ed had to admit that he hadn’t considered it to be something as drastic as this.

“Taking this routine from him, this part of his life … well, it was not fun for anyone but what else were they supposed to do?” James asked nobody in particular. “There are no psych tests in motorsport, but what if André had decided to cause an accident in order to hurt himself? Nobody wanted to take that responsibility so better safe than sorry … and I guess, they were right.”

A sad smile played on his lips and he shook his head. Ed decided to give him a moment before he would continue asking question. The more he heard about it, the more it seemed like that this had been an attempt to hurt himself.

Ed did not know if he liked this possibility more … when people get murdered there was always a motive and reason – some kind of logic. But suicide attempts? While it was not a surprise that life could beat you down and drag you into the dirt until you reached that point, Ed never really became comfortable with the idea, neither in a personal nor professional sense.

Clearing his throat, Ed asked, “and how did Mr. Lotterer react when …” Suddenly Ed’s phone began to ring and he rolled his eyes, he stopped talking mid-sentence. Only an awkward “sorry” made it out before he fumbled it out of his trousers pocket. He must have forgotten to put it on silent, but as he saw the name on the display he did not click the call away.

“I …” Ed stood up before the call would end. “I have to take this, sorry.”

He made a gesture for the officer on duty to stay with Rossiter as he left the room.

“Nadine?” He answered the phone as he was alone.

“The flat is on fire!”

“What?” Ed asked, feeling the blood drain from his hands as they became colder with each breath. “Where are you? Are you okay?”

It took a moment too long for his liking until she responded. “I am … I am outside.” At this Ed released a breath, hoping that Nadine hadn’t heard this. “I think I am okay.”

“Good.”

“I saw the fire when I arrived here,” Nadine went on talking, not having heard Ed. “I already called …”

“Well done …” Ed was already on his way to his desk to get the keys for the car. “… just stay where you are.”

The last thing he could need was lose a capable officer because she felt that she’d need to fling herself into the fire for evidence or some other shit. “I am on …”

“Fucking Christ!”

Ed stopped mid-step.

“Someone is inside that flat!”

“Nadine don’t …” Ed mumbled but he already knew that it was for nothing. She was too young, she had not experienced it all before, she had not experienced death so close. “Help is on the way. You …”

“It’s Vergne!”

“… stay exactly where you are!”

“I can’t! I need to get to him.”

“Don’t!”

But by then Ed already got no response. Nadine had hung up and Ed closed his eyes taking a deep breath. “Damn it!” He ignored the confused looks he got from his co-workers and picked up his keys.

Damn Vergne as well, he was not meant to be in this flat! It had been locked and nobody but the police should have access to it! It should have been easy and no risk for Nadine to go and find personal belongings there but now …

Now this stupid flat was turning into a death trap!

## Today

Of course André had lied. Even if the night with James had been quiet, André knew that it was just a way to weaken him. The moment he would start taking the drugs, the easier whatever lived in this flat could take over his mind. No … André had had to lie even if it hurt him. He knew better than this.

James did not know what he was fighting against. James had not even felt the influence when it had taken advantage of the smallest weakness in his guard. It had almost taken a hold of him, and André could not allow that. He could not live with himself, knowing that he had served James as the next victim on a silver platter.

So he had lied, switched the drugs against tic tacs and pretended to take them – seeing how relieved James was as he swallowed them. André could not remove the pain inside of him at the sight but it meant that James started to trust him again and left … James was saver outside of this place. Everyone was but for André it was already too late – the claws already dug far too deep into André. And he would be damned if he let this hell loose on the people he loved.

This was also why he had to act like the obedient little nut-case who took his medication. JEV had been different; he had wanted to stay. While André loved him for this, he also felt resentment because André was not a token patient about who’s care he could brag … look at poor JEV taking care of the insane Lotterer. André knew that it was not fair, and he never meant to hurt him but he decided to let these feelings show in order to save him from the same fate.

The flat did not understand altruism, care, friendship, let alone love. It was relentless, merciless, and brutal even and did not care about its victims but André very much did. 

He tried to keep this small flame of love alive, even as he walked down a corridor being presented with a different kind of horror every time: bodies strung up on the ceiling – sometimes familiar faces, other times not, some offering grotesque faces, other were smiling. They wanted to welcome André, wishing that he’d join them.

André could not, at least not yet.

He knew that he was fighting a losing battle but he would hold on for as long as possible. Even when he watched the water in the kitchen turn into blood. Even when he held a knife in his hand and wondered if it would take a lot of force.

As soon as he’d think this all the horrors would disappear. It could last for hours, days, sometimes even weeks. André discovered that it lasted only until he truly started to believe that the doctor might have been right: he might be sick, hallucinate.

Suddenly, there would be a scream in the bathroom with nobody there … and he knew it was time for the next round in the game. 

This night the round started with a child’s laughter that awoke him from sleep. It seemed so far away and André was tired of this game, he wanted to ignore it. He wanted to curl up and sleep until eternity to escape this hell. At the same time, the laughter seemed so familiar that he could not help but follow it. 

The happy laughter led him to the living room. There was a child, not a year older than 8 sat cross-legged on the floor. His head was bobbing from side to side moving to a beat that André could not hear. Only when André walked around the child and saw his face: his own face …

André swallowed hard but it did nothing to stop his blood from freezing and releasing the tightness in his chest.

_What are you doing here?_

As if his 8-year-old reflection had heard the question he turned towards André. He looked exactly like André had seen himself in all those photos except for one detail: his eyes were empty. Dead and empty.

This did not stop the child from stretching out his hand. André could not explain it, he knew that he shouldn’t take the hand but this was his own younger and dead version. In that moment he knew that he was scared and so was André, so he took the hand in his bigger one. This was just an innocent child, also caught in this deadly game.

Even with the small hand in his, André could not feel any warmth coming from it. Even the laughter had stopped being warm and inviting. Instead it had turned into a howl – a pained and cold one. André wished that it would take his hearing and as he looked at the small hand, there was no longer any skin on it, instead he was holding bones. Frozen in place, he watched as his younger self decomposed in front of him, layer by layer being peeled away: first the skin, then muscles, organs until only bones remained. Even those turned into dust and ash.

André took a step back until he hit the wall. He felt along it for anything to hold onto. Instead he only found wetness. The wall was wrong. This was all wrong and the explanation only came to him as he looked at his hands: covered in blood.

In all these years the flat must have had so many victims and all this blood must have gone somewhere: the walls had soaked it up. How many had died here before him? With 8 liters per person, who many had this flat swallowed up …

André shook his head. He did not want to add to this number. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, he would return to his bedroom and block the doorway. There he would hide until the morning. But his way was blocked – he saw his family: grandfather, grandmother, mother and even his late father.

There was no comfort in this image because André knew that they should not be here. André should not be here either, he realised. Nobody deserved such a fate. Even so, it had chosen him and now he was rooted in place and had to watch as his family turned into ash before him. Just like his younger self had only a few minutes ago. 

The tears only blurred the image so much but it was not enough … As the ash was scattered across the floor, André walked towards his bedroom. He could no longer do this, the thought came to him with a clarity he had not felt in weeks. He wanted to get out of here.

So when he reached his phone, he dialled JEV’s number – he could only explained that this could no longer continue. He could no longer do this. He had to get away from this flat, from all those horrors in front of his eyes. André would end it. He would end it tonight. He would get out of here!

André knew that the flat would not let him go. It kept the doors locked, it had chained André to this place. So even when André hit the door with his fists, no answer came. Nobody wanted to hear him call for help. It was as if the building was empty … had André ever seen his neighbours?

When André felt blood running down his hands he stopped. This was not the way out but he knew that there was another one.

So he pulled himself back onto his feet, his new plan giving him energy to ignore the scattered ash and bones of his family, to ignore the blood running down the walls. He opened the balcony doors and as the fresh sea breeze hit his face he smiled.

Yes. This was the way out.

He would not die here tonight.

The flat would not win.

## The Next Day

Ed could not get a hold of Nadine, her phone went straight to the mail box … Her safety was his responsibility, and she was too young and too stupid. She still believed in the little heroic fantasy where you go out of your way to save lives … at least until you get shot, lose an arm or get killed. There were fates worse than death as well.

All of this just because she could not wait until the fire fighters arrived. It was their job to get Vergne out of there, not Nadine’s! Damn the man and whatever stupid reason he had had to be there in the first place!

They had assumed that Vergne did not have a key … but he must have gotten inside somehow. He had probably laid the fire and misjudged how fast it would spread. What reason could he have had? Destroying evidence …

Maybe it had been Vergne … maybe Vergne was the psychopath in all of this … maybe that was why Lotterer had pushed him away … Why else would he torch the place?

Ed swallowed hard as he parked near the apartment complex. The raging fire was nothing more than smoke and ash now. Nevertheless, when Ed stopped and got out of the car, the smell of burned wood and plastic hit him. He took a moment in order to push unpleasant memories away and walked past the fire trucks.

He wanted to ask anyone about Nadine but she found him first, shouting his name “Ed!”

Ed turned around and saw her standing near a medical car, one hand wrapped in a bandage but otherwise she seemed fine. Ed released a breath and walked towards her, he was happy to see her and almost told her such. Instead he said, “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“It’s good to see you too.”

Ed bit the inside of his cheeks and touched her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Only then did Nadine look him in the eyes. Ed noticed that they were rimmed red. He could not say if this stemmed from the smoke or if she had cried but he knew that it would be better to not ask.

After a brief nod she touched his arm and nodded. “I think so.”

Ed nodded and let go. “What about Vergne?” he asked.

Nadine’s tone changed to a more professional one. “I am not sure … he’s alive but …” There she paused, picking her word. “I mean given the circumstances he seemed coherent last night, right?”

Ed nodded. “Yes.” Vergne had certainly been shocked by what he had seen but that was a normal reaction. Ed would have worried more if he hadn’t had reacted like that.

“But when I saw him today … just now …” Nadine shook her head. “This was a completely different man. I don’t know who that was to be honest.”

This was not the first time that Ed heard those words today, and he did not like it at all.

“I had to drag him out, Edward,” Nadine explained quietly as if she was afraid someone might overhear her story. “He was laughing all the time. He did not want to leave; said that he had won.”

Ed swallowed hard and stopped Nadine’s rambling by briefly lifting his hand. “You did alright,” he tried to reassure her. “Now take a deep breath, you’ve been through a lot.”

Even though she rolled her eyes, she did not resist. Ed watched her as she took a few deep breaths, he did not comment or rush her. Instead he waited until she opened her eyes again. They were clearer than before and she seemed more focused.

“I’ll find Vergne and talk to him,” Ed explained to her. “Then I’ll drive you home, okay?”

Nadine’s shoulders dropped. Of course, she hated to be coddled, and, if he was honest, he could understand. Who really liked to admit that they weren’t at their best? At the same time, what else was he supposed to do? Tell her to drive back to the station and catch up on last week’s paperwork?

“Fine …” Nadine mumbled. Then she straightened her back again and pointed towards an ambulance. “He’s over there.”

“Won’t be long.”

As Ed walked closer towards the ambulance, he realised that Vergne must have not fared worse than Nadine. Or at least not by much, the first aid responder seemed to be in no hurry to drive him away, and Vergne looked awake despite laying on a stretcher. But as Ed stood near him, he could smell the burned hair and he saw the red spots on his face.

“Can I talk to him for a moment?” Ed asked the first responder and showed her his ID.

She shrugged her shoulders. “Sure, if you can make sense of what he says.”

Ed chose to ignore that comment and gently tabbed Vergne by the shoulder to get his attention. “Mr. Vergne, do you remember me?”

Vergne nodded, so Ed wondered how far gone the man really was. “André was right. He had always been right.”

Ed frowned, fearing that he had his answer. “About what?” 

“I could not let it win,” Vergne continued talking over him. “It had to end! I ended it right here. The flat did not win.”

“You could have died!”

Vergne only laughed at this. It was not warm laughter, it was cold and unsettling. It was the stuff from nightmares. “And I would have taken it with me! I won, it is gone! I killed it! I killed it! I killed it …”

He repeated it over and over again, at first shouting until he turned it into a little sing song …

Ed turned towards the first responder, but she held up her hands in defence … She had warned him after all.

What was it with this place? Ed wondered, feeling a little faint on his feet. Vergne had seemed coherent no less than 24 hours ago, and now … and before him Lotterer, and all the other deaths … Ed could not explain it. He did not have an answer. He did not even have a theory anymore.

He only looked up at the building, seeing the burned remains on the 13th floor … whatever it had been, Vergne was right about one thing, it was gone now.

## Police Report: Case #30121401/16 - c

* * *

**Reporting officer** : Edward King

**Details of event:**

On the 19th of July, André Lotterer was admitted to hospital after a fall from his balcony on the 13th floor. If it was a suicide attempt or caused by person or persons unknown was not clear. During the course of the investigation, Jean-Eric Vergne set fire to this flat.

**Summary**

On the 20th of July officer Nadine Enslin intended to find personal belongings in Mr. Lotterer’s flat – mostly medical records. When she arrived at Boulevard de Belgique #15, the flat was already on fire. She entered it before the fire fighters arrived because she had seen Mr. Vergne inside. She managed to drag him into safety and very likely saved his life.

Mr. Vergne sustained first and second degree burns and admitted on the scene to setting fire to the flat. He claimed that he wanted to destroy it to prevent any further deaths/accidents. 

On the 21st of July, I was allowed to enter the remains and found evidence that Mr. Vergne had spent a day inside the apartment. Furthermore, neighbours confirm seeing him enter at about 6 AM (on the 20th). It is my recommendation to request a psychologist to determine if Mr. Vergne was legally sane during this time before charges are pressed.

Mr. Lotterer also regained consciousness on the 21st, however, we were only able to interview him four days later (26th). Mr. Lotterer admitted to having attempted suicide (exact wording “jumped off by my free will”). When asked if anyone else was present at this time, he claimed that it was “nothing human.” The reaction upon hearing of the fire was relief.

Unsurprisingly, a psychological evaluation confirmed Mr. Lotterer’s mental problems and psychological state. His mother, Rose Lotterer, has taken over the role of his legal guardian and when he is released from hospital, she intends to bring him back to Belgium.

This statement also cleared Mr. Rossiter from any remaining doubt about his involvement. Even so, Mr. Rossiter did not spend enough time in Monaco to even be indirectly responsible for such a considerable break down. Mrs. Lotterer gave him the authority over the flat. Mr. Rossiter states that he does not intend to renovate it. Instead he wants to board it up and “leave it to rot, whatever it is.”

The case is closed. 


End file.
